


Sources of Light

by stutter



Series: adventures in personal growth [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Consent, Everyone is of age, First Time, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Safewords, Slapping, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter/pseuds/stutter
Summary: Otabek smiles. “I think I like you like this,” he muses. “It’s nice, standing above you for once. Seeing you look up at me.”(Post-competition, Yuri gets what he's been asking for.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> TW: consensual rough sex with maybe less-than-perfect BDSM practices, but good intentions all around. 
> 
> this is the third in a series, but I think it can function as a standalone! all you need to know is it's about threeish years after the start of Season 1, after a competition towards the beginning of the figure skating season. also it's all sex. that's all it is. uhhh enjoy.

While Yuri’s in the shower, Otabek texts him four digits. Yuri’s toweling off his hair when he sees it, and his lips curve into a grin; it’s a room number, just a few doors down from his own. 

_You sure this is what you want?_ Otabek writes. 

_yes?? you promised. you said after the trophee._

There’s a pause. Then his phone lights up again. _if youre serious i need you to pick out a word._

Yuri frowns. _what kind of word?_

The ellipses jitter on his screen. Yuri’s fingers drum in unison. All day he’s been forcing himself to stop clenching his jaw, to stop pulling his hair. He feels unhinged, in need of a fix. He's so sick of waiting that it’s turning physical, a hot red itch in his blood. 

The skating’s easy. It's everything else - the screaming of the crowd, the endless assault of mindless questions from the press, trying to think in three or four languages simultaneously at any given moment - that turns the noise in Yuri’s brain up to a fevered shriek. And it’s been two days, now, of nothing from Otabek but kisses and promises, that once it’s over and they’ve done their victory laps then they can finally, finally do this. As if Yuri has that kind of time to waste.

Otabek texts back: _something you can say to tell me to stop._

 _I don't want you to stop,_ writes Yuri, grinding his teeth. _that's the whole point._

_yura, pick a word or im not even letting you in the room_  
_you can stand in the hallway and beg for me through the door all night._

Yuri’s stomach flips like a dream of falling. He reads the words over and over until they feel branded into his brain. He switches the phone to his left hand and presses the heel of his right against his cock, hardening fast under his towel. The phone hums again. 

_has to be something you wouldn't say during sex. bc I wont stop unless you say it._

Yuri glances around the room, eyes catching on the lamp. He sends, _lightbulb._ He stares into it until it sears a purple blotch into his vision. Fuck, he really needs this. Everything tonight feels raw, off, like fur rubbed the wrong way. His face hurts from trying to smile all day, from trying to seem gracious, repeating the same three sentences about his program and Victor and the pig over and over again. 

_was that so difficult?_ Otabek types back.

Yuri blows out an unsteady exhale. _can i come by now?_

Otabek makes him wait almost a full minute before responding: _sure, if you're ready._  
_yura im really not going to stop until you use the word. you get that right?_

Good, Yuri wants to scream into the phone. Don't stop until I disappear. 

He gets a text from Victor, a picture of Katsuki at the hotel bar, a flute of something pink and bubbly loose in his hand. _It's happening!!!!!_ reads the caption. _Come witness the magic!!!!_

Yuri swipes away without responding. He throws on sweatpants and a hoodie, slips on his shoes, and claws his hands through his hair. He feels spring-loaded, violent on a cellular level. 

He’s supposed to feel good. If Otabek had gotten gold, or Katsuki, they would have had no problem just doing the press, answering the stupid questions. Why is he still this fucking mad?

He shoves his hands in his pockets and lets the door slam behind him. A door down the hallway opens as he steps out, and it's all he can do not to sprint toward it. 

“Rude,” says Otabek, leaning against the doorframe. He's shirtless, barefoot, clad only in black sweatpants slung low on his hips. Yuri’s tongue prickles just looking at him. “People might be trying to sleep.”

“Nobody's up here,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. “The whole floor is skaters, and they're all down in the bar.”

Otabek looks him over. “Say your word,” he says in a low voice. 

Yuri sighs, feeling ridiculous. “Lightbulb,” he mutters. 

“Say it again.” Otabek’s face is completely serious. A chill erupts down Yuri’s spine. 

“Lightbulb,” he says again, quieter. 

Otabek nods. “All right.” He considers Yuri, like he's a shirt he might try on or as easily discard. After a minute, he says, “Go inside and get on your knees.”

Yuri blinks at him. He’s hot, dizzy all of a sudden. Otabek laughs. 

“You're blushing,” he says. Yuri can feel it, heat in his cheeks and neck, but he just glowers at him. Otabek looks unimpressed. “Well?” he says flatly. “Are you coming in, or would you rather suck me off out here?”

“Christ, Beka,” Yuri says, shifting his weight. He fights to keep his hands at his sides, not bring them in front of his body to hide how hard he is already. 

“You pick,” says Otabek, shrugging one shoulder. “Makes no difference to me. _I_ don’t care who sees you with your mouth full of my cock.” 

Yuri absorbs the words like a bad fall, a visible shudder going through him. Otabek’s lips curl up into a feline grin.

“But you’d love that, wouldn’t you, Yura?” he says softly. Yuri shakes his head no, even as the thought liquefies and ebbs through his mind, seductive in its shamefulness. Otabek reaches out with one hand and yanks him close by the front of his sweatshirt; he trips forward, clumsy and shocked. Otabek catches him around the waist and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips. “Inside,” he murmurs. “On your knees.”

Yuri’s heart pounds. The chain of command between his brain and limbs seems slower, longer, like it’s being translated through a game of telephone in order to comply. He staggers into the center of the room and goes down in one movement, knees hitting the carpet with a muffled thud. 

He hears the door shut behind him. Otabek moves like any good predator, quick and silent. He’s behind Yuri in an instant, one hand warm on his shoulder.

“Still got your word?” he asks. His voice is controlled and smooth. Yuri nods. He’s shaking with anticipation. He swallows hard.

“Please,” he whispers. Otabek tightens his grip. 

“Please what?” he says. “What are you asking me for?”

Yuri’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t know how to ask - it’s too honest, too humiliating to say aloud. “Use your words, Yura,” Otabek says in that same matter-of-fact tone. Yuri tethers all his focus to it, grounds himself in its certainty. “You love talking, don’t you? Always have something to say. So say it now.” 

He swallows again - he’s salivating, Pavlovian, wanting it so badly. But he’s never tried to talk like this and the words won’t come.

Otabek steps around to the front of him and slaps him across the face.

It’s louder than it is painful; the sound vibrates through every muscle in his body and goes straight to his cock. “Oh my god,” Yuri chokes, sinking forward and pressing his face eagerly against the front of Otabek’s sweatpants, nuzzling. Otabek makes a sound that catches in his throat. Yuri realizes with a sick thrill in his stomach that he’s laughing at him. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” Otabek says. “Huh?” He twists a hand into Yuri’s hair and pulls him back by it, bringing him up so his spine is straight. Yuri nods. Otabek clicks his tongue, disapproving. “Say it,” he says coolly. “Say it to me, out loud. Tell me.” 

“Yes,” Yuri whispers. Otabek slaps him again. A noise escapes him, a bitten-off cry. “Tell me,” Otabek says, steel in his voice. 

“Yes,” Yuri forces out, looking him in the eyes. His hand goes to his cheek in almost disbelief, marveling at the heat. “This is what I wanted. What I want.”

Otabek smiles. “I think I like you like this,” he muses. “It’s nice, standing above you for once. Seeing you look up at me.” He’s still got one hand tangled up in Yuri’s hair, tight at the base of his neck. With the other hand he pulls out his cock, hard and flushed and so goddamn tempting in front of Yuri’s face. He opens his mouth for it automatically. Otabek lets out a breathy, incredulous laugh. “There you go, golden boy,” he murmurs. “Take it.” 

Yuri looks up at him through a fall of loose hair in his eyes, rendering his vision hazy and blond. He licks a line up Otabek’s cock, suckles at the head lightly. Otabek stifles a groan. Yuri smiles around him, gratified. 

“What's so funny?” Otabek asks. He tenderly places his hand on Yuri’s cheek, then without warning digs his thumb in, forcing his mouth open wider, and thrusts roughly inside. 

Yuri chokes, mouth wet and surprised. His hands go out, press against Otabek’s hips for stability. “You're fine, aren't you,” Otabek says lowly. “You can take more.”

Yuri strains to hold his gaze, eyes swimming with reflexive tears. If Otabek says he can take more, he can, of course he can. He makes himself relax, focuses on the muscles of his throat, and swallows around Otabek’s cock. 

His fist tightens in Yuri’s hair, holding him still while he drives his cock deeper into his mouth. Yuri moves with him eagerly, working his tongue over his length. It feels so good to put all his energy into this, into pleasing Otabek, showing him how badly he wants to get it right. Otabek’s fingers in his hair twist tighter, bright little speckles of pain at the back of his neck. Yuri’s so hard he feels almost seasick, swaying on his knees, aching for something to rub against.

Otabek brings his face closer, thrusts into his mouth in one liquid movement, so deep that Yuri gags again. He doesn’t pull away, though. Otabek huffs out a breath. “You’re good at this,” he murmurs. “Better at it than you should be. Always the little prodigy.” He strokes Yuri’s hair out of his eyes, thumbs a stray tear off his cheek. “Too much?” he whispers. Yuri shakes his head minutely, tries to make a sound of dissent around Otabek’s cock. Otabek’s head falls back. Yuri’s hips cant up recklessly, almost taking him off-balance. Otabek glances down at him and laughs again. 

“Look at you,” he breathes. “You’re loving this. Letting me _use_ you.”

Yuri moans quietly, can't help himself. Otabek reacts - his shoulders tense, his cock twitches - then he drags Yuri off by the hair, wrenching his head back. His cock slips out of Yuri’s mouth with an obscene _pop_. Yuri gasps for air, sinking down as Otabek releases him. “That’s enough,” Otabek says. “This is too easy for you. I want to see you work for something.” His foot inches forward, props itself up against the crotch of Yuri’s pants. He finds the outline of his cock and rubs, absently, through the fabric.

Yuri lets out a groan through his teeth. Otabek pushes a little more firmly against him, and Yuri bucks helplessly against the pressure. Otabek’s expression is impassive, just the hint of an amused smile. Yuri feels his blush deepening; he drops his head, hiding his face behind a curtain of hair. “What do you want, Yura?” Otabek asks. 

Yuri takes in a deep breath. He's so hard it aches, brain clouded with need. “You know what I want,” he says, jaw clenched. 

Otabek hits him again, open-palmed, fast enough that Yuri doesn't even have time to flinch. He crumples at Otabek’s feet, panting. “Don't be a brat,” Otabek says calmly. “Tell me.”

“Or what?” demands Yuri, raising himself back up on his knees to stare back into Otabek’s face. His cheek is on fire and his eyes are leaking from the slap but all he wants is to make Otabek mad enough to hit him like that again. 

Otabek’s dark eyes are glittering. He takes a step back and tucks himself back into his sweatpants. “Or,” he shrugs, “I’ll tie you to the bed and leave you there while I find some other way to amuse myself for a few hours.” 

Yuri’s eyes go wide, even as his cock jerks at the thought. 

“Can you be good?” asks Otabek quietly. 

Yuri breathes in. “I can be good,” he vows.

“Sure you can,” Otabek says dryly. “Now tell me what you want.”

Yuri can feel his blush creeping down to his chest, like being engulfed in a soft fire. “I want,” he starts. His voice is barely more than a whisper. He takes in more air, steadies himself. “I want you to fuck me.”

Otabek steps into his space. He tilts Yuri’s face up with one hand. Yuri looks up at him, then closes his eyes and nuzzles against Otabek’s palm. It's still warm from slapping him. He turns his face and kisses it. 

Otabek lets out another rumbling laugh. “You know something,” he says in a low, level voice, “I think under all the medals, all the gold, this is who you really are. Isn't it?” He brushes hair back off Yuri’s forehead. Yuri keeps his eyes closed, shuddering with pleasure. “Undress.” 

Yuri blinks up at him. Slowly, somnambulant, he unzips his hoodie, slides it off his shoulders and lets it pool behind him. The sweatpants are harder from this position; he wriggles out of them as smoothly as he can, painfully aware of the rough carpet under his bare skin as he does. He gets back to his knees silently, lighting up with nerves under Otabek’s gaze. “Get on the bed,” he says. His voice is deeper than Yuri’s ever heard it. He starts to stand, but Otabek puts both hands on his shoulders and pushes him down hard so he sprawls. “ _Crawl,_ ” he rasps. 

Yuri’s mouth falls open. “I - I _can’t,_ ” he stammers. His skin feels like flash paper, like he could burn up and disintegrate in a moment. 

Otabek looks down at him from what seems like a hundred miles up. “Do you want to use your word, Yura?” he asks, no judgement or inflection behind the question at all. 

Yuri pictures it, the pale glow of the lamp in his hotel room. _Lightbulb._ He sets his jaw and shakes his head. 

“Then I think you _can,_ ” Otabek says evenly. “Show me you can be good, and crawl.”

Yuri’s used to being made to do impossible things with his body. He’s known for a long time that the bounds of possibility itself are permeable; that pain and punishment are roadblocks, not dead ends. But in that pursuit, his sanctuary has been the promise of grace, beauty, dignity. He's always ascended, honed his muscles toward something higher, something superhuman. 

Nobody’s ever pushed him down, away from the light, into the subhuman.

He can be good. He crawls, carpet biting into his palms and knees. Even over his shoulder he can feel Otabek’s eyes, can hear the uptick of his breath in the silent room. When he reaches the foot of the bed he pauses, unsure. He turns and looks over his shoulder at Otabek, who’s watching him with flinty eyes, gripping his cock through his sweatpants.

“I said _on the bed,_ ” Otabek grits out. “Hands and knees.” 

Yuri climbs up with some effort. He drops his head down between his shoulder blades, shutting his eyes against the shame burning in his gut. Then Otabek’s there, a hand on the small of his back, rubbing little patterns into the skin. 

“What is it that you think?” Otabek asks, voice almost tender. “If you talk a big game, if you keep winning, nobody will discover that this is what’s inside of you?” His other hand comes to rest on the front of Yuri’s thigh, slipping upward but not making contact. Yuri bites his lip hard so he doesn’t moan. “Just this sweet, submissive thing that needs to please, needs to hear he’s good enough.” He traces a path up Yuri’s spine, settling a few fingers finally on the back of his head. Yuri feels his heat as he leans over him, presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder. “But you know what, Yura?” he whispers. “I think everyone knows. I think they can see it _all over_ you.” He rights himself, pushing Yuri’s face down into the mattress as he does. Yuri’s back curves up sharply, rendering him powerless and completely exposed. 

Instinctively, he struggles, fighting to get back on his hands at least, but Otabek’s arms are stronger than his by half, and that’s before he snakes his free hand up and starts stroking Yuri’s cock, firm and steady. The fight goes out of him immediately; he arches even harder, pushing his ass up and then twisting into Otabek’s hand, making desperate sounds against the blankets. 

“You are so easy,” Otabek purrs. “Stop squirming.” 

Yuri tries, but it feels like his brain’s been wiped clean of everything but sensation, but the palms of Otabek’s hands, one tangling in his hair and the other bringing him closer to coming with every second - 

The hand in his hair disappears, and then lands on his ass with a sharp, loud smack. Yuri yelps in surprise. “Be still,” Otabek says calmly. “Be perfectly still.” 

Yuri sucks in a breath, living in the sting radiating from the spot Otabek struck. He exhales - be still, be perfectly still - and stops moving. “All right,” he whispers.

He’s not expecting it when Otabek slaps him again, a little lower this time, on the other cheek. He bites off a moan, trying not to squirm into it.

“Yura, you’re smart,” Otabek murmurs. “You know what ‘perfectly still’ means.”

Yuri’s eyes boil. He grits his teeth, sinks deeper into the calm sea of Otabek’s voice, into his words. He doesn't speak. The backs of his thighs quake from the stretch, or from nerves, but he stays put. 

Otabek’s hands slowly leave Yuri’s skin. He squeezes his eyes shut, tensing for another hit, but it doesn't come. Both hands come back down to rest on his ass, but gently. “Don't move,” Otabek reminds him. “Don't make a sound. You stay just as you are until I tell you.”

Yuri’s mind is a clear, glassy loop of intention - _I can be good I can be good_ \- but he's still caught totally off-guard when Otabek spreads him open and presses in with his tongue, hot and wet and sudden. 

All his thoughts crackle away. “ _Fuck,_ ” he gasps into the mattress, voice high and breaking. Otabek smacks his ass again sharply but doesn't stop licking, pulling him apart and burying his face in him. They've only done this a few times and before now it’s always struck Yuri as mortifyingly intimate, making his brain recoil even as his body melts with want. But this time, his body is all he has and it's all he can do not to push back against Otabek’s eager mouth. Otabek is making quiet, hungry sounds against him, like he loves this, and everything in Yuri’s body is screaming for it, for _more._ He doesn't even realize how hard he’s panting until Otabek slaps his ass again, pulling away for just a second to mumble “ _Breathe,_ ” before diving back in to lap at him some more. 

Yuri breathes. His cock throbs, out of his reach and untouched by Otabek. He can feel sweat prickling on his face and spine, can feel his body trying to grip at Otabek’s tongue, draw him in deeper. He wants to beg, wants to drop his hips down and thrust against the mattress, but he forces himself to stay still and patient - _IcanbegoodIcanbegoodIcanbegood_. He imagines what they must look like, Otabek bent double behind him, getting him ready, and feels a wave of hot, aching shame wash through him. He moans low in his throat, but doesn't move.

By the time Otabek decides he's had enough and pulls back with a growl, Yuri’s entire body is a raw nerve, an organism with only one purpose.

“Please, please please,” he's almost sobbing, “please fuck me, I'll be good.”

Otabek hums thoughtfully, stroking a hand over Yuri’s entrance. Yuri jerks like he’s been shocked, clamping his teeth down on the blanket so he doesn’t scream. “I don’t know,” he says slowly, “do you think you’re ready?”

Yuri feels tears, actual tears, prickling at the corners of his eyes. “Please,” he breathes, “I need it so much, I need you.”

Otabek rubs the pad of his thumb against Yuri’s hole, teasing it cautiously inside. “You still have your word, right?” 

“Fuck’s sake,” Yuri spits, reckless with lust, “I’ll use it if I have to, all right?”

Otabek seizes Yuri’s hips and throws him over on the bed so he sprawls on his back. He slaps Yuri hard across the face, making him cry out. “You’re so mean when you’re scared,” he says softly, then shoves his middle and index fingers into Yuri’s open mouth. Yuri makes a surprised sound but starts sucking automatically. 

Otabek’s free hand moves down and jerks Yuri’s legs up against his chest. “And don’t tell me you’re not scared. I know you, Yura. You've been scared since you woke up this morning.” He pulls his fingers out of Yuri’s mouth and slots them down against his entrance, starts pushing one inside. 

Yuri’s breath punches out sharply. He feels himself tense against the intrusion, even more when Otabek twists another finger in beside the first. “Fuck, please,” he chokes out, trying to relax his muscles, but it’s so much, he’s burning up, overcome, out of his own control. 

“Why are you fighting me?” Otabek says, over Yuri’s panting and cursing. He leans in, bending Yuri nearly in half beneath him. “If you want this bad enough to beg for it, why are you fighting me?” He crooks his fingers inside of Yuri, finds that spot that makes Yuri’s back arch, his fingers claw the sheets. “There,” Otabek murmurs, leaning in to kiss his gasping mouth. He does it again, again, until Yuri’s body is pulling at him, desperate for more fingers, more anything. “There, see, it doesn't have to be a fight. You don't have to fight for this, you can just have it.” He fucks into Yuri with his fingers, lips curved up, eyes almost reverent. “I don't know what I want more,” he rasps, “to watch you lose control and come just like this, or to make you wait for it.”

Yuri shakes his head furiously. He wills himself to hold eye contact and slurs, “Lemme wait. Please. I want to come with you inside me.”

Otabek’s posture changes. His face goes almost slack, darkens, his whole body arcing in toward Yuri like he wants to consume him. His fingers drive in hard enough that Yuri yelps, starving for it. “I’ll hurt you,” he says, voice rough. “You're still too tight, it's too new. I can feel it.”

“I want you to hurt me,” Yuri says. He can hear his voice trembling but he doesn't care, doesn't need dignity, just needs this. “I trust you, Beka, this is what I want.” He brings his hands around to Otabek’s waist, tries to pull him in closer. 

Otabek groans. He withdraws, making Yuri hiss from the loss. “Hang on,” he whispers, pulling away and reaching into the bedside drawer. He comes back a second later with a little bottle of lube and a condom and it's already been too long. Yuri wraps his arms around him and kisses him like they've been apart a year. 

The game’s dissolving all around them, Otabek’s hands gone gentle on his skin, Yuri squirming under him with a greed that could be in no way described as good behavior. It feels to Yuri that he’s being peeled away, like lemongrass, finding himself smaller and softer than he thought. 

“Okay,” Otabek murmurs, slicking himself up, “this is the part where you take in one very deep breath, all right?”

Yuri does, and Otabek pushes in. 

The stretch is a little worse than he anticipated, a burn that starts at the center of him and blooms outward through his limbs. He hears the sounds that slip out of his mouth, little and lost and young. Otabek’s expression is stunned, almost pained. He butts his nose against Yuri’s, brushes his lips over his cheek, his forehead. “Don't fight, Yura,” he breathes in his ear. “Don't fight me. Just let me in.”

Yuri breathes out. He feels full, fragile in Otabek’s arms. But the pain’s not getting worse. Otabek moves minutely and brushes that spot inside him again, and Yuri’s eyelids flutter. Otabek smiles. 

“There you go,” he mumbles, nipping at Yuri’s jaw softly. “That’s a little better, right?” He inches in a little deeper, does it again, and Yuri moans breathlessly. 

“Better,” Yuri whispers. He feels his body relax slightly around Otabek, then clench to pull him in further. Otabek lets out a helpless groan. He says something under his breath - it takes Yuri a second before he realizes it’s Kazakh, a curse Otabek taught him a while ago. “Beka,” he says unsteadily, because he can’t think of anything else. 

“I’ve got you, Yura,” Otabek says. He pulls back a fraction, then thrusts in a little more firmly, and pleasure sings through Yuri’s body, making him moan with need. “How’s that feel?” he whispers, but he’s grinning a little like he already knows. 

Yuri nods, reaching up to touch Otabek’s face, stroke a hand over his lips. Otabek kisses his wandering thumb, then shakes his head. “Answer me,” he breathes. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” Yuri mouths, in what’s probably the biggest understatement of his entire life. His cock is leaking against his stomach, hard and aching. 

“Yeah? Feels good?” Otabek’s thrusting a little more smoothly now that Yuri’s gotten adjusted, deeper and firmer each time. “You’re doing so well, you look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs. He changes his angle slightly, and Yuri cries out like he’s been burned. Otabek’s grin is spreading over his face, growing wicked. “You take it so well,” he whispers in Yuri’s ear. 

“Yes,” Yuri pants, “I - I love it, feels so - so good, Beka, fuck.” Otabek’s cock twitches inside him, rubs against his spot until he’s seeing stars. He makes a low, warning sound, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You gonna come like this?” Otabek rasps, jaw tight. “Fuck, Yura, I haven’t even touched your cock.” He thrusts into him harder, a little faster, so the bed creaks in complaint and scratches against the wall. Anybody could hear - Yuri couldn’t possibly care less. He grabs Otabek’s wrist, drags his hand over so it closes around his own neck.

Otabek stares down, amazed. “Ask me,” he bites out, hips stuttering in deeper. Yuri moans brokenly.

“Choke me,” he whispers. “Please.”

Otabek curses again. He presses down on Yuri’s throat, squeezes. The gasps of air Yuri’s pulling in reduce to whimpers. His head swims until the whole world thins down to just Otabek, his hands and mouth and cock, the violence of his grip and the tenderness in his eyes. His pulse hammers, panicked suddenly, and he claws upward to loosen Otabek’s fingers.

“You can take a little more,” Otabek says. He’s still driving into him, pleasure rolling through Yuri like music, even through the haze of airlessness. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

Yuri’s brain spirals into a chorus of trust, of love - _he’s got me, I’m safe, I can take it, I’m safe, he’s got me_ \- and Otabek, from some distance above him, smiles beatifically. “Yura,” he whispers, and he sounds as breathless as Yuri feels, “you’re good enough, you’re so good, you’re perfect.” 

Yuri’s eyes sting. He lets them slip closed, basking in it. Then Otabek releases his throat and wraps his hand around Yuri’s cock, stroking hard. Oxygen floods through him, rendering everything impossibly sharp and bright and hot and _happening,_ like he’s been punched back into his body by an immense fist. His muscles spasm around Otabek, clutching at his cock inside him, and with a sound that might be a wail he’s coming so hard that his vision goes dark at the corners.

Otabek throws both arms around him, holding him close, repeating it in a hoarse growl over and over - “You’re so good, Yura, you’re so _good_.” Yuri’s face is wet with tears, every muscle tingling and shaking. Otabek fucks into him viciously a few more times, then he lets out a sharp moan and seizes up, coming buried deep inside Yuri. Feral, they find each other’s mouths and kiss, hungry in a way Yuri’s never been until now but surely will be for the rest of his life. 

The kiss must last forever, or at least until Yuri’s breath starts coming more normally. Otabek pulls back just enough to kiss Yuri’s cheek, murmur, “Hold on, okay?” and slowly slide out of him. Yuri grimaces. He feels empty, abandoned, while Otabek ties off the condom and drops it over the side of the bed and clicks off the lamp. Then he’s back, warm and solid and wrapping Yuri up in his arms.

“I don’t like that part,” Yuri mumbles. Otabek maneuvers the blankets over them and holds Yuri even tighter.

“What part?” He pushes Yuri’s hair back gently. Yuri’s eyes fall shut again, and he nestles closer to Otabek, close enough to hear his heartbeat.

“The part where you stop fucking me,” Yuri grumbles. Otabek snorts, jostling Yuri against him. 

“You know,” Otabek says dryly, “this is not how most people would probably want to have sex for the first time.”

Yuri makes a face at him. “I’m not most people,” he points out. Otabek squeezes him tightly. 

“Should’ve known, I suppose,” he sighs. “He takes gold at his senior debut, of course he wants to jump right into pain and choking his first time getting fucked…”

Yuri rolls over so he’s laying on Otabek’s chest. He’s fighting to keep his eyes open now with everything in him. It feels like he might actually sleep properly for the first time in half a week, all anger and frustration a vague memory. “Beka,” he whispers muzzily, “we have our whole lives to have boring sex like married people. I only get to do this for the first time with you once.” 

Otabek cranes up to kiss him. “I don't think sex with you is ever going to be boring,” he mumbles. He jerks slightly as Yuri’s eyes drift closed, making him mewl in protest. “Hey,” he says sternly. “Don't fall asleep yet. You should drink some water. And we’ve got to get an alarm set for the morning. Where's your phone?”

Yuri clings to him tighter, shaking his head, just because it makes Otabek laugh. “That’s all across the room,” he grumbles. “I'm not getting up.”

“Such a spoiled brat,” Otabek says fondly, peeling Yuri off himself to feel for his phone on the bedside table. 

“Don't leave,” Yuri says automatically. Otabek sinks back down beside him at once, pressing a kiss by his ear. 

“I'm not going anywhere, Yura,” he whispers. “I’m staying right here with you.”

It feels like a match has been struck in Yuri’s chest, burning warm and low through his veins. He thinks, _I love you,_ but doesn't say it aloud. What's the point, when they both already know?

Yuri hears Otabek unlock his phone, then make a confused noise. He opens one eye, sees Otabek illuminated by the glow of his screen. “What's up?” Yuri asks. 

Otabek shakes his head. “Can you read this?” he asks flatly, displaying the screen. Yuri squints in the light at a dozen texts from an unknown number, all in Japanese. 

Yuri feels himself going red. “Motherfucker,” he hisses. 

“Did you give Yuuri Katsuki my phone number?” Otabek asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Of course I didn't! Oh my god,” he blurts as the phone pings again. Apparently Katsuki’s found the Cyrillic keyboard on his phone, though his spelling is abominable and the words themselves are even worse. 

_B CAREFUK WITH YURUO OR ELSE WE WILL HABE TO FIGHT_

_OK COME DONWB TO THE BAR SO UBCAN FIGHT YOU_

_IM HUSH KIDDING OTABEH ILOV EYOUU_

“Don't even read these,” Yuri demands. “He’s drunk off his ass.” Otabek snatches the phone back regardless, reading with a smirk. 

“Should I do it?” he deadpans. “Should I go fight him for your honor downstairs?”

Yuri holds back a smile. “Just don't do anything. He'll be so embarrassed tomorrow he won't even be able to -” The phone chimes again, and Otabek bursts out laughing.

“What's he saying now?” asks Yuri, reaching. “Give it.”

Otabek shakes his head, pulling it away from Yuri’s grip. “Better I don't tell you. Then you'll be the one wanting to fight.”

“Beka!” Yuri lunges at him, and Otabek laughs harder, holding him at bay with one strong hand. 

“It's nothing,” he soothes, pinning Yuri down with his body and kissing him soundly. “He says hello. And that he loves you.”

“This is the worst day of my life,” Yuri whines, dodging another kiss with a stubborn grin. 

Otabek makes a disconsolate sound. “Your whole life, huh?” He grabs a fistful of Yuri’s hair to hold him still and kisses him until he's pliant in his arms. “Sounds pretty charmed to me.”

Yuri closes his eyes, smiling into Otabek’s neck. He supposes, really, it is.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is extremely loved and appreciated.


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